Fifty Shades of Janson
by Face of Poe
Summary: short fic response to a challenge with Caelestis Kibeth. Syal Antilles and Jysella Horn find themselves in a CSF precinct late at night with their fathers; A Rogue Squadron ceremony is interrupted by an assassination attempt. Rogue shenanigans ensue.
1. Fifty Shades of Janson

**A/N: **A response to a challenge fic exchange with **Caelestis Kibeth**, go check out her hilarious fic **Course Diversion**.

Caelestis challenged me to write a 300-500 word fic (clocked in at 535, sorry) featuring the following three items:

-a curiously-placed hydrospanner

-trouble with authorities

-the color chartreuse.

The following shenanigans ensued:

**Fifty Shades of Janson**

"This is so embarrassing."

Syal glanced sidelong at Jysella, and then stared sullenly through the force field of the holding cell to where their fathers were immersed in conversation with the shift commander. "Pretty much the worst," she concurred with a sigh.

"Drunk."

"Brawling."

"Arrested."

"By Coruscant Security Forces, no less," Syal let out a derisive huff. "That's embarrassing for our fathers."

"And our families."

"And the fleet."

Jysella pulled herself wearily to her feet and held out a hand for her longtime friend, "C'mon," she nodded to the trio on the other side of the barrier. "Looks like they're about done."

Wedge offered a tight grimace to his daughter and her friend; Corran's jaw was set in such a way that Jysella could tell he was trying very hard to restrain himself.

"Girls," Wedge watched impatiently as the shift commander input the wrong authorization code to deactivate the holding cell, and then began to type the lengthy combination in again. "There's a very important lesson for you to get out of this situation."

The effort to avoid rolling her eyes was almost too much for Syal. "What? Never go out drinking with- -" She frowned as the shimmering field dissipated before her eyes and she could better see across the cell. "What's wrong with Janson?"

"He's fine," Corran grunted, stepping through the containment area to freedom. "He just needs to sleep it off."

"He's very... yellow," Jysella frowned.

Syal cocked her head to one side. "Aureolin."

"Tatooinian sunrise."

Wedge held up a hand for silence. "He got a stun baton to the gut."

"And we're just going to _leave_ him here?"

Corran blinked down at his daughter, and then at Wedge. "Yes," they answered succinctly.

"So this is his fault, I take it?"

Corran's scowl deepened. "Wedge had the officer on the scene _almost_ convinced not to arrest upstanding war heroes like ourselves, before Tycho and Hobbie lost their grip on him and… well, you know what Wes is like."

"Mouthy?" Syal offered.

"Belligerent?" Jysella suggested.

"Tactless?"

"Let's just say the exchange ended with his firm suggestion that the officer shove a hydrospanner up his-"

"Wedge Antilles!"

Wedge's mouth snapped shut as they stepped through to the lobby. "Iella," he acknowledged cautiously. "You're… here."

"You got arrested and called your _daughter_ to come get you?"

"I, ah…" his gaze drifted to a row of seats by the door. Sitting side-by-side were Hobbie, Mirax, and Tycho, who were all watching the proceedings keenly while sharing a bag of crispics. Winter stood against the wall, arms crossed, amusement flickering across her face. "Right."

The commander entered the lobby behind Jysella and scowled at the gathering. "Take it somewhere else, folks. _Home_, preferably."

The trio by the door stood, but before they could make it outside, Syal started. "Oh! Winter, come here, I need your help with something." Ignoring the commander's spluttered objections, she pulled her back through to the holding area. When they emerged half a minute later, Winter was deep in thought.

"Wha-?" Tycho started to ask, but his wife motioned for quiet.

After ten seconds of careful consideration, she snapped her fingers and looked triumphantly at Syal and Jysella. "Chartreuse. Janson is chartreuse."


	2. We're All Fine Here Now, Thank You

**A/N**: Round 2 of my challenge with Caelestis Kibeth! This time, I was challenged to write a 700-900 word story (eked in at 897 this time!) including:

\- a search for the truth/a truth about oneself  
\- a bullet hole  
\- miscommunications  
\- a tray of sandwiches

**We're All Fine Here Now, Thank You. How Are You?**

"Janson!" Corran Horn snapped. "Get your finger out of that hole."

"If I had a credit for every time I've heard that," Hobbie remarked dourly.

Wes yanked his hand back; his finger made a popping noise as he pulled it free. "Evidence," Corran groaned mournfully. "Evidence." He crouched down to eye-level with the gouge in the podium. "Low caliber mag-pellet maybe," he studied the network of cracks emanating from the impact point. "Certainly did a number on the stand, but a high-caliber would have shattered it completely." Frowning, he tilted his head to one side. "Still- seems a bit too neat."

"Smooth," Wes piped in.

"Finger!" Corran glared.

The last attendees of the abandoned ceremony were nervously sidling out of the amphitheater under the watchful guard of security forces and the even keener gaze of the rooftop snipers intent on discouraging a repeat performance of the one which had dispersed the ceremony in the first place.

New Republic Intelligence agents were filing into the space, most of them heading up to the stage. The first ones on the scene, a grim Twi'lek and his Bothan partner, tried to shoo Hobbie, Corran, and Wes away from the damaged podium and off the stage. Hobbie acquiesced and sat in the front row of seats. Corran tried to tell the disinterested agents what he had already deduced from the situation. Wes cheerfully ignored them and continued to bounce around enthusiastically.

"Who do you suppose wants to assassinate our enigmatic leader, Agent…?" he leaned in obnoxiously close to the Bothan.

She snorted. "Enigmatic fighter pilots. Now I've heard everything."

"Ow, my pride."

Her tan fur rippled in irritation. "Excuse me, but you could go and sit out of the way like the rest of your squad mates?"

"I'd rather help you get to the bottom of this dire matter. If you look here- -"

"Finger, Janson!" Corran roared from the other side of the podium. "Hole!"

He threw up his hands in exasperation and trudged down the duracrete steps to the seats that, until five minutes prior, had held guests to a ceremony celebrating Rogue Squadron's latest victory over the squabbling Imperial warlord of the month. Midway to the first empty chair though, he glanced to his left and changed direction instantly. "Food!"

Amid the eyerolls of the rest of the Rogues, they all became suddenly aware of a new pair of feet, the thud of heavy boots running down the aisle of the seating area, short gasps of the runner as she hurdled towards the stage. A blur of dark uniform and dirty-blonde hair flashed by them; Wes pulled a sandwich off one of dozens of untouched trays on the reception table and watched with polite curiosity as the woman skidded to a stop in front of Corran at the base of the steps.

He held out his hands to steady her. "Iella? What's wr-?"

"Where… he… heard… fire…?"

"Whoa," Corran looked concernedly down at his onetime CorSec partner. "Slow down. What's the matter?"

"Wedge!" she finally gasped. "Where is he, is he okay?"

"I, ah…" Corran nodded over to the chairs where ten of Rogue Squadron's twelve members were watching the unfolding events with keen interest. Sitting right in the middle, flanked by Tycho Celchu and Gavin Darklighter, was Wedge Antilles.

Iella stared slack-jawed for a moment before marching over and smacking him on the arm.

"Hey!"

"I was told you were shot!" she glowered down at him, as if the miscommunication were his fault.

"Shot _at_," Wes mumbled through a mouthful of food. "Fine distinction."

"Of all the incompetent…!" she sighed and ran a hand over her sweating brow. "Okay. Fine. Wedge is fine."

"I'm fine too," Wes called; Iella ignored him.

She clapped her hands together. "Here's what we're going to do: no more public ceremonies for Rogue Squadron." She marched up the stage, where her Intelligence colleagues stood aside and let her examine the damaged podium.

Hobbie cleared his throat awkwardly. "Do you have the authority to - -"

Her glare shut him up instantly.

"_Further_more," she turned back to continue her investigation, "for any future…"

She trailed away thoughtfully, head cocked bemusedly to one side. "Iella?" Corran asked from down on the ground.

After a quick word exchanged with the Twi'lek, he handed over a multitool and Iella sorted out a small light and shone it at the hole. Wes shoved the rest of his sandwich in his mouth, crossed his arms over his chest, and motioned for everyone else to watch carefully.

Then she stuck her finger in the hole. Wes grinned.

"You nitwits," she muttered after a moment, sorting out a new instrument on the multitool. Inserting a tweezer-like appendage, she bit her lip and wriggled it around a moment, before yanking it out, a small piece of misshapen metal with it.

"What is that?" Tycho leaned forward and squinted.

She walked it down to them, looking extremely exasperated. "Skid coil cap, at a glance. Probably flew off an old Incom T-model. Shoddy upkeep and amazingly bad timing, yes. Poorly-contrived and misaimed assassination attempt, no."

Wedge stood and took the mangled piece from her hand. Peering carefully at it, he offered Iella a self-deprecating pout. "Still could've killed me."

"Oh," she patted his arm consolingly, "I know, you brave man, you. But look on the bright side," she nodded to her left. "Food!"


End file.
